There’s only one thing I want right now: a Chicago-style dog, extra relish, with two pickles.
While I walk, I get ahold of Alma to find out what happened.
“She was hospitalized Friday,” Alma says, sadness leaking through her voice. “It happened so quickly. Her temperature was elevated, and then we found out she was septic when we got there. She was gone within twenty-four hours.”
We’re quiet for a minute, sitting with Louise’s memory. My mind loops through all the signs I missed. The changes in mobility, the phone call she took from the hospital. It’s clear now that she wasn’t visiting a friend. She was trying to downplay the progression of the disease.I think death is maybe the last human milestone I have on the horizon.I hope that, even though I was an idiot for not realizing sooner, she was glad that I didn’t treat her any differently, knowing that she was in her final days.
“I’m getting a hot dog,” I tell Alma.
They laugh, throaty. “Can you believe that she would leave the country club between bridge rounds to go to that hot dog hut? Instead of eating in their restaurant that has, like, a Michelin-starred chef?”
I can believe that. There’s something special about the hot dog hut. Like a secret.
The Sunny Island is just as I remember it: shabby, with a sign that’s probably existed since the eighties, and buzzing fluorescents that beckon me inside.
When the hot dog arrives on checked paper in a red basket, I hold it up in the air, toasting. “To Louise,” I say quietly.
The first bite of overflowing relish, eye-watering mustard, and rubbery veggie dog is nothing short of a revelation. Exactly what I need. Maybe Louise is even here right now, eating one with me.
In the aftermath of the first food I’ve had all day, I imagine what’s going on in the bridal suite. Maybe they’ve finished sewing my voodoo doll, or perhaps started burning an effigy.
Anger at Penelope hits me again. Anger that she couldn’t appreciate having someone like Louise in her life. That she twisted our friendship into a knot incapable of being untangled.I’m not complaining, Louise said.I like you much better.Maybe I found something better, too. I think about eating a hot dog right here with Alma, and drinking bubble tea with Calliope. Being twirled by Eitan around a medical-office-building-DJ-studio.
Eitan.
The same thought that I had when he first opened that bathroom door hits me again:soul contact.
Do you believe in me?Eitan asked. It’s such a fickle thing, belief. Made of iron and feathers.
I dig my knuckle into my armpit. The lump is still there. I see myself losing my hair again, getting more surgery, fighting for a life that keeps trying to kill me. It’s a storm I might not survive.Louise didn’t.
I’m being cleaved. Smashed together and torn apart at the same time. Wanting to be with someone and knowing you may not get enough time with them. Once you start telling the truth, it’s hard to stop. It’s bright light, in all directions.
The Dark Place is laid bare. A wasteland surrounded by cliffs. Years I may lose, parts of my body I’ll never see again, safety I’ve lost. The life I thought I would live is projected on all sides, aninsidious reflection. An eightieth birthday party. A body that’s whole. A mind that’s careless and peaceful. A life that can be danced through.
What is there to believe in when life deals you these cards?
Louise’s words flow all around and through me, like water.When you close yourself off to the world like that, you let the fear take over.
What would I believe in, if I let go of my fear? Answers pelt me from all sides. Laughter at the dinner table. Drinking coffee together in the morning. Holding hands during a thunderstorm. Never losing sight of all the days before tomorrow.
There’s this heavy weight that I’ve been dragging around, that I’ve chained myself to. A fear of dying, a threat of darkness, a resignation to be cursed. It will sink me if I let it. But there are gifts, too. Lightning in a summer storm. Lake Michigan sparkling under the sun. A room full of people, listening to your words, understanding you.
I stand up abruptly, my stool scraping The Sunny Island’s tiled floor. I don’t know what I’ll say, but there’s someone I need to talk to.
At the same time, the door chimes with another Sunny Island customer. I am quite a sight. A runaway bridesmaid with a full face of makeup, minus some mascara tear tracks. I stay angled away from the door, hoping to avoid eye contact with whoever just walked in.
Which is tough, because I’ve learned the hard way over the last four months that soul contact isn’t easily broken.
“Ruby?” a husky voice breathes from the door.
It’s Eitan, bow tie undone, hair a mess, chest heaving.
chapter
thirty-three
We stand there,across the room from each other. Eitan’s eyes soak me in: every nook, every crack I’ve tried to keep hidden. They’re the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen, but it’s not because of their color or their shape. It’s because when they look at you, it’s like being warmed by the sun.
